


as the gentle rain

by exbex



Series: I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends [9]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: Unlike most of the court, the press doesn’t have the decency to ignore him, and like sharks that smell blood in the water, they surround him. He’s about to put on a practiced plastic smile when the eyes of the reporters look past him and they address someone else.
Series: I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642447
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	as the gentle rain

The quality of mercy is not strained.  
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven  
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:  
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.  
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes  
The thronèd monarch better than his crown.  
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,  
The attribute to awe and majesty  
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;  
But mercy is above this sceptered sway.

_The Merchant of Venice_

After all was said and done, there was nothing else for Tariq to do but lose himself in his studies. It was a silver lining in the midst of the fallout; allowing him to squirm out from under his parents’ expectations.

They hadn’t been particularly pleased with his choice of accounting as a major. A career for commoners, they felt. But Tariq liked numbers. He had always enjoyed details, it was one of the reasons he was so interested in fashion and food and drink. Numbers were also much more free of subjectivity. They were manipulated all the time, of course, but numbers were easier to pick apart and understand. There wasn’t the nuance involved that made social situations difficult to read and navigate. And while errors concerning numbers could have devastating consequences, it was also easier to remedy those mistakes, catch them before they became irreparable.

He spends more than a year avoiding most social engagements and all courtly functions. Tariq figures this is best for everyone, but his father insists that he make an appearance eventually. The lantern festival is perhaps an odd choice, considering it’s held at duchy Valtoria, but Tariq figures he’ll be far more likely to blend in there. He can also appreciate the symbolism of the event, even if he has no idea of what to wish for, or of what to let go of (if there is something weighing him down, surely it’s an albatross of his own making). 

He finds one of the emptier tables and picks up a square of paper, twirling the pencil between his fingers. Riley and Maxwell have switched from the lanterns to using flying wish paper, citing a far less damaging effect on the environment and increased safety as motivation. Some have mocked the decision, but Tariq thinks there’s a certain appeal to setting a paper alight and watching it disappear, especially if he’s truly meant to be letting something go.

He ponders, finally writing one word as his wish, then flipping the paper over to scrawl another word for what he intends to release. He waits patiently for a volunteer with a lighter. Festival participants are having their papers lit in tandem, and the delighted laughter of small groups of people begins to reverberate about the estate as points of flame light up the evening like so many fireflies.

Unlike most of the court, the press doesn’t have the decency to ignore him, and like sharks that smell blood in the water, they surround him. He’s about to put on a practiced plastic smile when the eyes of the reporters look past him and they address someone else. 

“Your Grace, are you surprised to see Lord Burhan at this year’s festival?”

Tariq can feel the heat in his face as he shifts to face Riley for the first time since she and Bertrand Beaumont had shown up at his door in Los Angeles so many months ago. 

“It has been a long time.” Riley holds her hand out and Tariq somehow remembers to shake it.

The reporters, of course, can’t leave well enough alone. “Why do you allow him to be here after everything that happened?”

Riley’s smirk is full of meaning that Tariq can’t hope to decipher. “That’s all in the past,” she says. “And Lord Burhan is one of the few people who apologized. If I had kept track of every person who made snide remarks about those photographs and then behaved as if they’d never believed I’d done anything wrong, I’d have to wear a neck brace permanently.” She pauses, and Tariq can tell that they’ve drawn a lot of attention from the other nobles, several of whom look abashed, some who look a little impressed. “But tonight reminds us of what we need to let go of,” Riley continues. “And I strive often to let go of resentment.”

It’s a well-timed and well-spoken sentiment. Tariq can’t help but admire her diplomacy, and her graciousness. The press and festival attendants alike seem pleased with her answer, and the celebration continues.

“That...is better than I deserve,” he says as the others disperse.

Riley looks him in the eye. “We make our choices but we’re not entirely free from the whims of those in power over us.” She pauses. “And there’s little that’s unforgivable if you’re willing to take responsibility and try to set things right.”

“Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

She gives him an encouraging smile. “Take care of yourself Tariq.”

He bows to her before she walks away, and as he turns to leave he wonders if perhaps his wish has been fulfilled after all.


End file.
